


Completely Unprepared

by BubbleGumLizard



Series: Mystrade NaNoWriMo 2015 [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Dates, M/M, Romance, Sappy Ending, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Greg was completely unprepared the first time he saw Mycroft Holmes. He had known about Mycroft’s existence for some time, but he had never been introduced to Sherlock’s mysterious older brother, so he put the man out of his mind."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Completely Unprepared

**Author's Note:**

> I did a word crawl today! The result is this story (and 2500 words of another story). I hope everyone likes it!

Greg was completely unprepared the first time he saw Mycroft Holmes. He had known about Mycroft’s existence for some time, but he had never been introduced to Sherlock’s mysterious older brother, so he put the man out of his mind. When they finally met, however, it was under less than ideal circumstances. Sherlock had just relapsed for the third time since Greg had met him, overdosing again. Greg was sitting in Sherlock’s hospital room, wringing his hands as he looked at his new friend, who kept nearly killing himself. Sherlock was sleeping peacefully, going to be okay once again.

“He does this too often,” a man said from the doorway.

Greg looked up and felt his breath catch in his throat. The man was wearing a perfectly tailored suit and looked impeccable. He had an air of authority, tinged with familial grief, that had Greg half hard in his trousers by the time Greg realized that he wasn’t interested in men sexually…or was he? Looking at this man, it certainly seemed like he had some level of attraction to men, just one that had never been tested before.

While these thoughts were racing through his head, the man was looking at him with a curious half-smile. He cocked his head to the side, surveying Greg. He looked like he could read minds even better than Sherlock did, like he knew exactly what was going through Greg’s head — oh shit. Greg felt himself blush and the man smirked before turning to look at Sherlock, lying in the bed.

“Is he going to be okay?” the man asked.

“Yes, he’ll be fine. I’m Greg Lestrade,” he said, standing and holding his hand out to shake.

Mycroft ignored Greg’s outstretched arm. “I know who you are, Detective Inspector. Thank you for bringing him in and staying with him.”

“Of course I stayed with him. He’s my friend.”

“Does he call you his friend?” the man turned and fixed Greg with his piercing eyes, another smile playing at his lips.

“He doesn’t have to call me that for me to know that’s what I am.”

“Of course not,” the man said and sat down in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to Greg.

“Do I get to know your name? Or shall I guess it?” Greg asked, getting annoyed.

The man smiled. “You know my name, Detective Inspector. You just have to remember that you know it.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “Fine, then. I need to get back to work. Have this idiot call me when he wakes up so I can yell at him.”

The man laughed as Greg left, making Greg’s knees go weak. Greg tried to ignore his physical reactions to the strange man, but he was having trouble. He locked himself in his office when he got back to work and put his head in his hands, trying to shake the image of the insulting, rude man. Instead of shaking the image, his mind simply saw the man doing something that occupied his mouth so he couldn’t speak, which just made Greg worried that he was going to have an embarrassing situation if he suddenly had to stand up and walk somewhere.

Eventually he calmed down, but by the time he had, there was a strange woman in his office. She handed him a card that said simply “Mycroft Holmes” and a phone number. “Mister Holmes would like to arrange a time to take you out for dinner,” she said, sounding exceedingly disinterested in the conversation.

“Why would he want to meet me?” Greg murmured, turning the card over in his hands. Then it his him: the mystery man in Sherlock’s hotel room had to be Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock had warned him that Mycroft was rude and unpleasant, but it had been

Sherlock talking, so Greg had figured that just meant Mycroft was normal. “I don’t particularly want to have dinner with him,” Greg said, looking at the woman.

She rolled her eyes and looked up at Greg. “He will be very disappointed. He left instructions for me to clear anything from his schedule to meet with you, even a meeting with the Prime Minister.”

Greg sighed, trying to convey the idea that a meeting with the Prime Minister bored him. “I suppose I will have to make time, then. He had better take me to a bloody nice restaurant, though.”

“I will pass on the message, sir. Now, if we may arrange the details?” She pulled out a phone and looked at Greg expectantly.

He shrugged. “Barring a particularly nasty murder, I’m free any night.”

“Very good. Friday, then? Eight o’clock?”

Greg nodded. He frowned as she stood to leave. “This is just a thank you dinner, right? I’m straight.”

She smiled. “Of course, Detective Inspector. Mister Holmes is well aware of your sexual orientation.”

Greg watched her go, feeling uneasy. Her words weren’t particularly confidence-inducing. The way she said that Mycroft was aware of his “sexual orientation” made him feel like Mycroft knew, or thought he knew, more than Greg did about his preferences. He had never had any interest in men, though, so he was fairly confident that he was not going to suddenly realize his attraction to men. Greg had played on sports teams and shared rooms with other boys when he was young. He had never once had anything other than friendly interest in any of them.

Mycroft was different, though. He found himself thinking about Mycroft’s body, wondering what he looked like under that suit, wondering what his cock looked like and felt like. He was positive that he had never thought about another man’s cock before, so he was a bit confused about why he suddenly wanted to see, or even taste, Mycroft’s cock. He leaned back in his chair and thought about the rest of Mycroft. He had always been a man to appreciate a nice pair of breasts. It was strange, then, to be imagining sex with a man, who obviously wouldn’t have breasts. He thought about kissing his way down a flat, hard, chest, playing with a man’s nipple, wondering how Mycroft would react to that. He imagined what he would do if he felt an erection press against him, if he would be disgusted or intrigued.

The door opened suddenly and he nearly fell out of his chair. “Sally!” he exclaimed. “Don’t do that to me!”

“Sorry sir. What’s different in here?” she asked, looking around the room. 

“Nothing’s different in here. It’s exactly the same as it always has been.”

“Then you must be different. What have you been doing?”

Greg shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “What do you want, Donovan?” he barked, using his detective inspector voice.

Sally told him some boring business about a case that was going to court and Greg waved her off, saying that he would deal with it later. He returned to his paperwork and tried to put Mycroft and their date—not a date, a thank you dinner—out of his mind. 

***

Friday soon came. Greg went home after work to decide what he was going to wear. He knew it would be obvious if he dressed up, but he had also made that comment about Mycroft taking him to a nice restaurant. His nicest suit wasn’t nice enough for a posh restaurant, so he felt like he should do his best and dress up a bit. Still unsure of himself, he decided to take a long shower to wash the day’s events and his insecurities off.

In the shower, his mind wandered, finally settling on its favorite topic the past few days: Mycroft. He once again wondered what the man’s body looked like, if he were all creamy white skin or if he were covered in freckles. Both would be equally pleasing, Greg decided, and then realized that he was absently stroking his cock, which was hard. Greg hesitated, and then tightened his grip, stroking harder, the way he liked it.

He picked up speed as he thought about kissing Mycroft, thinking about how Mycroft’s lips would taste, if he would be gentle or hard. He moaned softly, leaning against the shower wall and panting as he stroked as hard and fast as he could. An image of Mycroft, nude and reclined in Greg’s bed, pushed Greg over the edge and he came with a shout of “Mycroft!”

Greg washed himself, trying to put what he had just done out of his mind. He had often masturbated to women he was dating. This wasn’t a date, though, he reminded himself as he turned off the shower. “This is simply a thank you dinner,” he said aloud to his reflection in the mirror over the sink.

A niggling voice in his head told him that he was being silly, of course it was a date. Mycroft told his assistant to cancel any plans, including a meeting with the bloody prime minister. Who would do something like that just to say thank you? That’s the sort of interest that only comes from really wanting something.

Mycroft hadn’t exactly been friendly, another part of Greg’s mind reminded the first voice. In fact, he had been quite rude, refusing to say his name and telling him that Sherlock did not consider him a friend (still bloody ridiculous, whether Sherlock wanted to admit it or not, they were friends). Why would Mycroft have treated Greg like that if he wanted to date him? No, this was certainly just a way to say thank you. A man like Mycroft Holmes probably didn’t care much for rank, so blowing off the prime minister was surely not a big deal.

Greg dressed, deciding on his nicest shirt, trousers, and jacket, but leaving his tie in his pocket. It might be a bit crumpled if he had to put it on, but it was better than not having one. He resolved to ask Mycroft if it was necessary, deciding that a slight bit of embarrassment would be better than getting too dressed up.

As he waited for Mycroft, he was sure that Mycroft would know everything that had gone through Greg’s mind while he was getting ready and waiting. Greg was slightly embarrassed about his shower, but he reminded himself that he had never been embarrassed before when masturbating while thinking about someone, there was no reason for him to start now. Even if it was a man, a man who would be able to read Greg’s mind as soon as they saw each other. Greg felt himself blush and put his face in his hands. This was going to be awful.

Greg was waiting outside when Mycroft’s car pulled up. Greg climbed in, smiling at Mycroft. “Good evening,” he said pleasantly.

“Is it?” Mycroft asked, looking Greg over. “And how are we feeling this evening?” He had a little half-smile on his lips again, an expression that Greg had a sudden urge to kiss away.

“I am fine, thank you. How are you?”

“Quite well. I am anticipating a lovely dinner.”

“Where are we going? Anywhere really fancy? I have a tie if I need one.”

If Greg didn’t know better, he would have sworn that Mycroft’s eyes twinkled. “A tie will not be necessary. While normally the restaurant has a dress code, I am not bound by such restrictions. That courtesy extends to my guests as well. You are perfectly fine the way you are.” His eyes raked over Greg, making Greg feel naked. Surprising himself, Greg found that he liked it. There was something very satisfying about being looked at like that, like he was a piece of meat just waiting to be devoured.

“Well, that may be going a bit far,” Greg said quietly, hoping for a joke.

“I disagree,” Mycroft said and Greg quickly looked out the window, afraid that he was going to blush if he watched Mycroft’s face any longer.

They continued with stilted, awkward conversation for the rest of the ride to the restaurant. It certainly seemed like Mycroft was flirting with Greg. Greg decided that if Mycroft had a proficient conversationalist for their conversation, he would be quite good at flirting. As it was, he had Greg, who was easily embarrassed. Finally, they reached the restaurant and Greg was able to escape from the car, having a moment where Mycroft couldn’t see his face, during which he let out a long breath, trying to steady himself.

They were shown into the restaurant. It was dark but richly decorated. They were taken to a private booth in the back where they could not see or be seen by anyone. The table was lit by candles, but several of them, so the lighting wasn’t quite date-worthy. Greg considered how many candles would need to be extinguished to make the lighting more romantic while Mycroft ordered a bottle of wine, which Greg assumed would be the best wine he’d ever tasted. 

“Are the candles particularly riveting?” Mycroft asked softly with another one of those damned smiles on his lips.

Greg tried not to gulp obviously, but he was sure that he failed. He cleared his throat to disguise it, fully aware that he wasn’t fooling Mycroft and that his confused interest was quite clear. “I’ve never seen so many candles on a table at a restaurant.”

“I asked them to put extra, so it wasn’t so romantic. This is my favorite restaurant, which unfortunately caters mostly to couples having an evening out. I can have them remove some candles, if you’d prefer…” Mycroft offered, making Greg blush and shake his head.

“No, no. Very good idea of you. Wouldn’t want to confuse this with a romantic evening,” Greg said, still staring at the candles.

“No, of course not,” Mycroft said. He reached over and touched Greg’s shoulder softly. Greg looked down at the hand, which plucked something Greg couldn’t see and then pulled away. “You had a bit of loose thread.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” Greg said, his brain moving much more slowly than it normally did. He still felt the pressure on his shoulder where Mycroft had touched him and it made a sharp feeling of want settle in his belly. Trying to shake off the feeling, Greg tried to force his brain to focus on what Mycroft was saying.

“Are you feeling quite well, Detective Inspector? You seem a bit distracted.”

“I am fine, Mister Holmes. And please, call me Greg. There’s no need to be formal.”

“I always feel a need to be formal, but I will respect your wishes, Greg. I suppose you should refer to me as Mycroft, if we’re being familiar.”

“Mycroft still sounds formal. What about Myc? Or My?” Mycroft looked horrified and Greg laughed. “Mycroft it is, then.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, smiling delightedly.

“How is Sherlock feeling? I haven’t heard from him,” Greg said as he took a sip of his wine: he had been right, it was the best wine he had ever tasted. He licked his lips and looked at the glass appreciatively, before looking back at Mycroft, who had a very strange expression on his face. Want? No, that wasn’t quite it. Need? Maybe. Greg shrugged it off, waiting for Mycroft to answer his question.

“Oh, Sherlock is back to normal. He is currently in yet another rehab program. This is supposed to be the best in Europe, so I’m hoping it can do something for him.”

“I feel responsible for his relapse. It’s silly, I know, because I have no responsibility for his addiction, but directly before he bought the drugs, I told him that I wouldn’t let him help on cases anymore.”

“Why would you do that?” Mycroft asked, looking surprised.

“Because I got into trouble for letting a civilian in on cases. It isn’t exactly legal and I was caught doing it.” Greg sighed heavily. He had liked having Sherlock around, even with his theatrics. “I was told that I needed to stop letting him into crime scenes.”

Mycroft considered Greg for a moment. “And you would like him to continue helping you?”

“Of course. Not only is he better than any of people, I like to think that it give him purpose. If he’s solving crimes, he doesn’t need to be doing drugs or anything else self-destructive that he likes to do.”

“I can arrange for you to have permission for him to help. We can’t tell Sherlock that I’m responsible, obviously, but he’ll no doubt figure it out for himself.”

Greg smiled. He knew that Sherlock and Mycroft had an antagonistic relationship and it was interesting to see it from both sides. “I don’t think he’ll care. As long as he’s getting to work on cases, I think he’ll be okay with you being responsible. As long as we both deny that you had anything to do with it, at least.”

“You understand him better than most,” Mycroft said approvingly. 

Greg shrugged. “He isn’t really that difficult to understand, as long as you’re not trying to figure out how he knows everything he knows. And you have to be willing to take a certain amount of verbal abuse.” Greg chuckled to himself. “And you can’t want to be the smartest person in the room. Never going to happen, with Sherlock around. Well, for everyone except for you, that is.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mycroft asked, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s pretty obvious that you’re smarter than he is. You’re much better with people, too. You’re still quite rude, but nowhere near as insulting as he is.”

“I’m rude?” Mycroft asked, blinking. Greg seemed to have caught him off guard for once.

Greg cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Well, I mean, you’re not awful. But you don’t always stop yourself from making the less-than-pleasant deductions.”

Mycroft smiled wryly. “I suppose you’re correct.” He looked down at the menu, which had mostly been forgotten in their conversation. “The duck is quite lovely here.”

“I will bow to your expertise,” Greg said, not understanding half the words on the menu. “Order for me what you will.”

When the waiter came, Greg thought it seemed a bit like a date, with Mycroft doing all of the ordering while Greg sat by, sipping his delicious wine. “I see you are enjoying that,” Mycroft said, nodding at the glass in Greg’s hand.

Greg smiled. “It’s exquisite. I don’t normally drink wine, let alone good wine,” he admitted.

Mycroft smiled. “That’s my favorite. It is rather expensive, so I don’t drink it every day, but I usually spring for a glass or two on when I go out for dinner. It’s a special treat that I allow myself.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I’ll ever taste anything so good ever again, so I plan to savor it.” Greg felt like he looked like a fool, a smile plastered across his face, but he felt very happy.

“Well, perhaps you will have a chance to sample it again in the future with me.”

Greg needed to stop himself from staring at Mycroft. He didn’t seem to be able to help himself, he just kept staring at the extremely attractive man across the table from him. When their food came, he was grateful for the distraction. “This is delicious,” he said, looking up from the steak that Mycroft had ordered him. “How did you know that I would like it so much?”

Mycroft sighed happily while eating his duck and smiled back. “You seem like a steak man,” he said. “Like you appreciate a nice piece of meat.”

Greg choked on his food at the suggestion in Mycroft’s words. He coughed as Mycroft stood up and slapped him on the back, redding when he had finished choking. He looked up at Mycroft, who had rested his hand on Greg’s back after slapping it and didn’t seem inclined to move.

“Are you okay?” Mycroft asked softly, his face close to Greg’s.

Greg tried not to think about how much he wanted to kiss Mycroft. “Fine, thanks.”

Mycroft sat back down and Greg felt a loss as he took his arm away. He wished that Mycroft would return and wrap his arms around Greg, holding him. It had been a while since Greg had been in a relationship and he thought maybe his lack of a relationship was why he was so interested in Mycroft out of nowhere.

They continued eating in silence. When they had finished, Greg gave a happy sigh and leaned back in his chair. “That was the best meal I’ve ever eaten. I need to let you take me out to dinner more often.”

Greg could practically predict the little half-smile that appeared at that comment. He was ready for it, knowing that Mycroft would catch the flirting tone in Greg’s voice.

“If I take you out to dinner regularly, people might suggest that we are dating,” Mycroft told him.

“Well, we might have to risk that.” Greg knew that he was treading on risky ground, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Besides, would it be so bad if people thought that?”

“If I recall correctly, you made sure to inform my assistant that you were straight. I would think that it would embarrass you for people to assume you are dating a man.”

Greg blushed, but decided to press on. “I am straight. But nothing in life is absolute, is it? There’s always going to be exceptions to things.”

Mycroft looked shocked. “It is very hard to surprise me, Greg, but you seem to have managed it.”

“Good. I like to keep a man on his toes.”

Mycroft laughed. “I do believe that you are flirting with me. If I didn’t know better, I might think you had romantic intentions tonight.”

Greg hesitated and then leaned forward and blew out three of the candle, leaving them in romantic semi-darkness. “Is that more clear?” he asked in a low, sultry voice.

“You are full of surprises,” Mycroft said, leaning forward and taking Greg’s hand in his.

Greg considered their joined hands. He was familiar with how men’s hands felt, from shaking hands with men regularly. Holding a man’s hand like this, in a romantic way, was very strange. The hand he held was bigger than his own, but thinner. He wondered what it would feel like to have those strong, thin fingers on his cock, how different it would feel from a woman’s hand.

“Having a crisis of sexuality?” Mycroft asked, his voice sounding a bit cold.

“No, I’m secure in my sexuality. There’s simply a new aspect of it that I hadn’t discovered. I’m just thinking about how different it would be.”

“How different what would be?”

“Sex with a man. Your hands are definitely not like a woman’s hands. They’re undeniably sexy, though.”

“I have little interest in being an experiment,” Mycroft said in a warning voice.

Greg chuckled and smiled at him. “While I think I would quite enjoy experimenting with you, I’m not proposing you let me shag you to see if I want to. I already know that I want to shag you. There’s always going to be some element of experimentation at the beginning of relationships. That’s the only experimentation I wish to do with you.”

Mycroft relaxed a bit, the smile returning to his face. “What makes you say that you know you want to shag me?”

“Other than the fact that I’ve been thinking about it since the moment I laid eyes on you? Or the fact that I masturbated while thinking about it before our date?”

Mycroft stared at him and Greg chuckled. He had never really been shy when he was talking to people who attracted him and Mycroft was apparently no different. “I must admit, I am a bit flabbergasted,” Mycroft admitted. “No one has ever said anything like that to me.”

“Oh, well, they should. You are the sexiest man I have ever seen. You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted to shag. And I certainly want to shag you.”

“Your sexuality does not worry you? I am nothing like a woman.”

Greg shrugged. “I suppose that it will require an adjustment period. I understand if you’re not interested in having a relationship with me, because I may find myself uncomfortable with some things. Though I will admit, I have had some adventurous girlfriends, so I’m not sure there’s anything that you can do to me that I haven’t already had done.”

Mycroft’s jaw dropped open and Greg nearly laughed. He liked that he could cause this type of reaction in someone normally so poised as Mycroft. He drained his glass of wine, pouring himself another. “What in particular are you thinking about that I might do to you?” Mycroft asked, leaning forward over their joined hands.

Greg leaned forward as well, so they were as close as possible. “Well, I already know what it feels like to have my prostate stimulated.” Mycroft let out a low moan that went straight to Greg’s cock. “I had one girlfriend in uni who was very into doing that sort of thing. She was so talented with her tongue and so fit and I was nineteen and up for it all the time. There’s probably very little I wouldn’t have done for her.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

Greg closed his eyes, memories rushing back. “Enough that I’ve asked other girlfriends to do the same thing.”

“And you are sure that you’re straight?” Mycroft asked with a smile that barely covered the look of want in his eyes.

“It’s still always been women I’ve wanted to do that. I’ve never wanted a cock in the arse until…well, until recently.” He blushed, opening his eyes, worried that he had said too much.

“Would you like to come back to my flat?” Mycroft asked in a strangled voice.

Greg nodded. “More than anything.”

Mycroft signaled to the waiter that they were leaving, then stood. He paused and then reached out to take Greg’s hand. Greg smiled and took the offered hand, standing as well. He let Mycroft pull him out of the restaurant and into the car.

They sat on opposite sides of the car, both looking out the window, touching only where their hands were joined. After a few minutes, the car stopped moving and Greg looked up at the large, posh-looking building in front of him. “I feel like I should be using the service entrance,” he muttered as they approached the building.

“Nonsense. You’re very chic,” Mycroft said as the doorman let them in.

Greg snorted. “I didn’t know hobo chic was in this season,” he said with a grin at Mycroft, who looked back at him.

In the elevator, Mycroft seemed antsy. He kept looking at Greg’s face and then looking back at the numbers that were lighting up, his free hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out and touch more of Greg. When the doors opened, Greg was surprised to see a small foyer with a single door in front of them.

“Do you have this whole floor?” Greg asked as Mycroft typed in a code.

Mycroft nodded. “It’s much less impressive than it seems,” he said, holding the door for Greg.

Greg walked into the flat and stared. “This is unbelievable.” The main room of the flat had a dining area with a beautiful table and a living area with the most comfortable-looking couches and chairs Greg had ever seen. One wall was almost entirely made of glass, showing a beautiful outdoor area, behind it a breathtaking view of the city.

Mycroft smiled. “The view is rather nice. I’d much prefer a cottage in the country, myself, but this is more fit to my station. Since I must entertain on occasion, I have found that this is more appropriate for my home.”

“Well, if you like cottages, you’d like my flat. It’s about half the size of the average small cottage and contains about twice the amount of things.” Greg smiled, looking at the artwork on the walls. “And my only decorations are stains on the walls that the detective in me has suspicions about.”

“Well, I suppose I shall give you a tour, then,” Mycroft said, showing him around the main room and the spare bedrooms. “This is where I spend most of my time, however,” he said, leading Greg into a bedroom that looked like it was part of a different flat entirely.

There was a large four-poster bed, hung with red velvet curtains. The walls were a dark wood, causing the room to be quite dark. The room was lit by several lamps around the room. A desk lamp sat on a desk near the window, which contained everything one would expect on a modern desk, including a rather impressive computer. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace, which was surrounded by comfortable armchairs. Greg could see Mycroft sitting in one with a glass of brandy and a book, reading by the light of a reading lamp, which sat on a side table, also lit. There were several sconces on the wall that held soft lights. The whole room was trimmed in deep red. Mycroft seemed to fit in the room perfectly. Greg couldn’t believe that he was in Mycroft’s bedroom, which looked like it was ripped straight from Victorian times (other than the computer, of course).

“What do you think?” Mycroft almost sounded nervous.

“I love it!” Greg replied with enthusiasm. “It’s so you.”

Mycroft smiled delightedly. “I’ve never shared this bedroom with anyone before. I worried that it was a bit…over the top.”

“Oh, it certainly is. But so are you.”

Mycroft hesitated, looking unsure. “I feel like I have just been insulted.”

“That wasn’t my intent,” Greg said, reaching out and taking Mycroft’s hand comfortingly. “It isn’t the sort of bedroom one would normally expect. But it fits you so well. If I were told to imagine your ideal bedroom, this is what I would see.”

“Well. Shall we have a drink?” Mycroft asked.

“I’d rather have something else, if it’s not too forward of me to say,” Greg told him.

Mycroft blushed. “Oh. Well, we can do that too.”

“I would like to ask… Can we take this a bit slow? I’m slightly nervous. I’m sure I want you, but since this is all so new, I don’t want to have a bad reaction that offends you.” Greg was nervous, afraid that Mycroft would see his request as a sign that he didn’t really want this, when he wanted it more than anything.

Mycroft smiled. “I understand. It’s all rather new, isn’t it?” He rested a hand gently on Greg’s shoulder and leaned forward, kissing him gently.

Greg kissed back, cataloging how it was different than kissing a woman. Mycroft had clearly shaved, but he still had some stubble that scratched his face slightly as they kissed. Mycroft’s mouth was bigger than any woman’s Greg had known and he tasted different. He tasted like the duck and the wine, sure, but Greg could taste something else, something specifically Mycroft that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The smell was different as well. Rather than smelling flowery and sweet, like women usually did, he smelled like a man’s aftershave with a small bit of sweat mixed in. Greg had never found men’s aftershave sexy, but on Mycroft it clouded his head with lust. Greg felt instinct and experience take over and he pushed Mycroft back onto the bed, straddling his midsection and kissing him thoroughly.

Mycroft moaned, pressing his hips up so his hard cock rubbed against Greg’s trouser-covered arse. This was one thing that had concerned Greg: he hadn’t been sure quite how he would react when presented with a situation like that, when he was presented with Mycroft’s erection in such a physical manner. When it happened, Greg couldn’t stop himself from letting out a moan, wishing that they both weren’t wearing trousers. He rolled off of Mycroft, fumbling for Mycroft’s trousers. He wanted to see him.

“I want to see you naked,” Greg panted, realizing that Mycroft was still wearing his entire suit. He stood again, frustrated, and pulled Mycroft up, pushing his jacket off and cursing as he tried to rush unbuttoning Mycroft’s waistcoat and shirt.

Mycroft chuckled and pulled away from Greg’s hands, quickly and efficiently undressing until he was wearing only his pants. He crossed his arms and looked pointedly at Greg, who was staring at him hungrily.

Mycroft cleared his throat, making Greg look up at his face. “Your turn,” he said.

Greg smiled and completely stripped, nowhere near as graceful as Mycroft. When he had finished, he stood in the middle of the room, completely naked and fully erect. He smirked as Mycroft’s eyes trailed down to his cock.

“Let’s start with something you will find familiar,” Mycroft said, dropping to his knees.

Greg moaned and reached out for something to steady himself. One of his hands grabbed one of the bed posts and he held on for dear life as Mycroft used his extremely talented tongue on Greg’s most sensitive spots. He tried to keep himself from bucking into Mycroft’s mouth, but Mycroft pulled back after a few moments and smiled lasciviously up at Greg. “You don’t have to hold back. I learned how to ignore my gag reflex.”

Greg groaned at how sexy that was and allowed himself to thrust into the wet heat of Mycroft’s mouth, putting his spare hand on the back of Mycroft’s head. The harder he thrust, the more enthusiastically Mycroft sucked and moaned. It wasn’t long before Greg was coming. He tapped Mycroft’s head in warning, but Mycroft just held his arse tightly and swallowed every drop.

When Mycroft pulled off, Greg fell onto the bed, staring up at the canopy and feeling dazed. “That was amazing,” he breathed.

Mycroft lay next to him. “Thank you. I have to admit, I quiet enjoy doing that, so I have practiced quite a bit.”

“You are are sexy it should be illegal,” Greg told him.

Mycroft chuckled and interlaced his fingers with Greg’s. “I will set an assistant at work on drafting that law first thing in the morning.”

“I’m hoping to be distracting you first thing in the morning,” Greg said, leaning over and kissing Mycroft, letting his hand trail down to the top of his pants. “May I?” he asked.

Mycroft nodded and Greg pulled the pants down, staring at Mycroft’s rather impressive erect cock. Greg kissed Mycroft again, running his hand over the other man’s cock. It wasn’t quite as strange as he had expected. He gripped it tightly and gave it a few experimental strokes, causing Mycroft to buck his hips and cry out in pleasure. Greg captured Mycroft’s mouth with his own again, feeling satisfaction as Mycroft continued to cry out into Greg’s mouth.

“Let me know when you’re close,” Greg whispered, kissing his way down to Mycroft’s neck. 

It was only another few minutes until Mycroft moaned and said, “I—I’m close.”

Greg swooped down and took Mycroft fully in his mouth, sucking as hard as he could. Surprised by this course of action, Mycroft shouted Greg’s name and came. Greg sucked him through his orgasm, swallowing several times to catch all of Mycroft’s semen, while simultaneously trying to analyze the taste. 

“I was not expecting that,” Mycroft said after, sounding dazed.

Greg licked his lips and lay back down. “I wanted to taste it. I also wanted to minimize the mess. It was the only logical thing to do.”

Mycroft laughed. “It is hardly logical to share bodily fluids with a relative stranger, with the risk of disease these days.”

“You strike me as a particularly careful man. I’m sure you’ve had a whole report on my sexual health and that you’ve been tested since your last partner. I know I have been.”

“It still isn’t very bright.”

Greg shrugged. “Something about you makes me trust you.”

***

“You shouldn’t trust him, you know,” Sherlock said, walking into Greg’s office three days later.

“I beg your pardon? Shouldn’t you be in rehab?”

“Mycroft. I know you’ve been talking to him, probably about me. You shouldn’t trust him at all. He only uses people. And I escaped.”

“I know he uses people,” Greg said, looking back down at the paperwork he was doing. “He’s using me so that I will let you continue working with me. Unfortunately, he’s going to get what he wants.”

“Really? I thought you said something about higher ups.” Sherlock looked delighted despite himself.

“I’ll square it with them. Go back to rehab, get clean, get a better flat, even if you need a flatmate to afford it, and I will make it so that you can work on cases with me. Including crime scenes and looking at case files.”

Sherlock considered the offer for a moment and then jumped up. “Oy! What’s your answer?” Greg asked.

“No time to talk, Lestrade, I have to get back to rehab.”

That night, Greg nuzzled Mycroft’s chest. He had found that he quite liked to be cuddled by Mycroft after sharing orgasms; it was nearly his favorite part of the whole experience. “I saw Sherlock today,” he said sleepily.

“I know,” Mycroft said. “You convinced him to return to rehabilitation. Offering some sort of deal where he gets to work with you, no doubt.”

“Yeah, and he needs a better flat, maybe even one with a flatmate. Are you watching him or me?”

“You’re so good at manipulating him. Better than I’ve ever been. And both of you, actually. Since you and I are in…whatever this is, there’s an increased risk to you. Do you mind?”

Greg shrugged. “I suppose not, if it’s for my safety. Or your comfort.”

“You’re very trusting for a detective inspector.”

“Only with you, love. Sherlock warned me about trusting you, but I can’t help it.”

“He’s right, you know. Generally speaking, my only interactions with people mainly benefit me.”

“Perhaps I’m naive or blinded by sexual attraction, but it seems to me that your benefit from spending time with me is getting and giving sexual satisfaction. That also benefits me.”

Mycroft traced patterns on Greg’s shoulder and sighed. “Do you want anything more?”

“Than sexual satisfaction? Yes. But that’s what we’re doing now. An occasional dinner would be nice. Cuddling is very nice, but we’ve been doing that. I’m a simple man, that’s most of what I need from a partner.”

“Is that what you consider me, then? A partner?”

“Perhaps. ‘Boyfriend’ sounds so juvenile for two middle-aged men, doesn’t it?”

“I like it, though,” Mycroft said softly. “I’ve had my share of relationships, but very few of them included anything like this or what I would have termed boyfriends.”

“Would you call me that?”

Mycroft turned so that they were face to face and smiled at Greg. “I would. My sexy, rough-around-the-edges boyfriend.” He leaned in for a deep kiss.

“Okay, then, boyfriend. I need to get some sleep,” Greg said, unable to stop himself from yawning.

“Stay here tonight?” Mycroft asked, sounding hopeful.

“I’d love to. I haven’t any clothes here, though,” Greg told him, sounding disappointed.

“I’ll have Anthea bring you some in the morning. That way you can stay all night and can sleep as late as possible.” Mycroft kissed him, pulling the blankets up around them and snuggling down for the night.

***

In less than a month, Greg had basically moved into Mycroft’s flat. Neither of them minded, it was nice to fall asleep together and to wake up with Mycroft working quietly at his desk. They settled into a familiar routine, until they arrived back from dinner one night to find Sherlock sitting in one of the chairs in the living room.

Mycroft entered the door first and stopped short as he saw Sherlock, who jumped up. “Do you know where Lestrade is? He isn’t answering any of my texts or calls!”

Greg slid by Mycroft, reaching down and squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I turn my phone off when I’m on a date, Sherlock.”

“A date? With Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, seeming to find it funny. Suddenly his mood shifted and he glared at Mycroft. “You couldn’t let me have a friend, could you? You just had to go and shag him!”

Greg laughed. “Don’t be silly, Sherlock. I’m not a toy that your brother stole.”

“He couldn’t possibly be actually interested in a relationship with you, can’t you see that?” Sherlock asked. “I’m leaving now. Call me if you need help with a case, which is always.”

“Remember our deal now that you’re out of rehab,” Greg said in a warning tone.

“I know, I know. I’m moving into a flat on Baker Street in a couple days and looking for a flatmate. I’ll meet your ridiculous requirements.” He stormed out of the flat, leaving Greg and Mycroft smiling at each other.

***  
Serial suicides. They didn’t make any sense. Greg resisted bringing Sherlock in on the case, since he was still moving into the new flat. Eventually, however, it became apparent that he was going to have to get Sherlock’s help. When he arrived at Sherlock’s flat, there was a strange man there, but Greg tried not to pay much attention to him.

Of course, Sherlock figured the case out. Greg was trying to figure out the relationship between Sherlock and his new flatmate, who appeared to have shot a serial killer to save Sherlock’s life. After the case was wrapped up, Greg collapsed into Mycroft’s bed as Mycroft sat at his desk, working.

“What do you think of him?” Greg asked thoughtfully.

“Who?”

“John Watson.”

Mycroft shrugged. “I checked on him. He seems perfectly fine. A bit strange, but so is Sherlock. I think they’ll be good together.”

“I think so, too. How long do you think it will be before they’re shagging?”

Mycroft laughed. “I’ve never known my brother to shag anyone. And John Watson is straight.”

“Yes, just like me,” Greg said with a grin. “I saw you at the crime scene, talking to Sherlock. Why didn’t you come see me?”

“I was reluctant to out you at work.”

“I appreciate that you worried about that, but it isn’t necessary. I’m not bothered by the silly things people say. And I’m secure in my sexuality.”

“Oh? And what is that these days?”

“Mycroft-sexual.”

“Mycroft-sexual?” Mycroft tried to keep the smile from his face as he repeated the words, but he failed.

“Sexually attracted to Mycrofts. Speaking of sexual attraction, get over here.”

Mycroft laughed and did as he was told.

***

Greg walked into the strange pub, looking around for the bloke he was meeting. He had asked John if they could meet, wanting to have a frank conversation about Sherlock. Since John knew next to nothing about Sherlock, he felt that he owed the man an overview of Sherlock’s history.

John waved from where he was sitting at a table. Greg made his way over and sat down. “Evening, mate,” he said with a friendly smile.

John smiled back. “Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Straight to the point, eh?” Greg asked. “You’re right, I have something specific in mind for conversation.”

“Sherlock?”

“Obviously Sherlock. There are a couple things I thought you’d might like to know.”

“Listen, mate. I know that you’re trying to be helpful, but I’m not interested in hearing about that stuff from anyone but him,” John said, sounding defensive.

“Relax, John. I’m not going to spill any secrets. Everything I have to say to you involves me. And I’m not trying to scare you off. I’m not Mycroft.”

John looked surprised. “You know Mycroft?”

Greg chuckled. “You could say that. I just want you to be able to do what is best for Sherlock. And you. Mostly Sherlock, though, because I have no loyalty toward you.”

John laughed. “Let me get the first round and we’ll talk.”

They talked for hours, Greg explaining his experience with Sherlock’s drug history, including the last overdose and the deal that Greg had made with Sherlock regarding being clean and working on cases.

“How is it legal for him to be involved?” John asked curiously.

“Mycroft.”

“Are you friends with Mycroft, then?”

Greg chuckled again. “Mycroft and I are…we’re together.”

“Like dating?”

Greg nodded. “Very few people know. Really just you and Sherlock.”

“I didn’t know you were gay.”

“I’m not. I’m straight, actually. Except for Mycroft.”

“Holmes men really have something, don’t they?” John asked, looking like his thoughts were miles away. Or perhaps just a few blocks, over at Baker Street.

“Oh really?” Greg asked.

John blushed. “But I’m not gay. And Sherlock is married to his work.”

“Ah. Well, take it from me. Sex with a man is pretty fantastic, if done correctly. From one straight man to another, it’s worth a try if you find yourself attracted to a man.”

John laughed. “Okay, Greg. But please don’t give me any details about you having sex with Mycroft.” He paused, looking at Greg’s hand. “Why do you wear a wedding ring?”

Greg looked down at his ring, which he hadn’t thought about in months. “It’s a rather long story. And I should be getting back and making details I can’t tell you about. Good night, mate,” he said as he left.

When he arrived back at Mycroft’s, he found Mycroft dozing by the fire. “Wake up,” he said softly, sitting down in the chair across from him.

Mycroft groaned and shifted, smiling at Greg. “I enjoy waking up to you.”

“Did you notice this?” Greg asked, holding his hand out. “You’ve never asked about it.” 

Mycroft took a deep breath. He seemed to think for a moment, unsure of himself, which was unusual. “You know,” Greg said softly.

Mycroft nodded. “When Sherlock met you, I did some research into your history. If I had known what I would find, or what we would become…” he trailed off.

“I understand,” Greg said with a sigh. “I forgot that I even wear the damn thing. I’ve worn it so long. I couldn’t bring myself to bring it off after Michelle’s death.” He looked down at his finger and toyed with it.

“You needn’t take it off,” Mycroft said with a small smile. “It doesn’t bother me. If it did, I would have mentioned it.”

“Thank you.” Greg stood and stretched. “I think I should get some sleep. It has been a very long day.”

“Did you have a good time with Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked, standing with him.

“It was nice. I think I may have regular drinks with John.” He began to ready himself for bed. “Sherlock’s calling himself ‘married to his work’ now.”

“Oh? He has never been the sort to date. I think Watson is different, though. He is complementary to Sherlock. I’ve never met someone who seemed to fit with him so well.”

“Well, hopefully the two of them will figure it out. John seems to know that there’s chemistry, but he said Sherlock isn’t interested. Oh, and he’s ‘not gay.’”

“All he needs is a Holmes to help him with that,” Mycroft said with a grin.

Greg pulled him into a kiss. “Well, that definitely won’t be this one. He’ll have to get his own to love.”

“Love?”

“Yes, love.”

“Good.”

***

Life settled a bit, Greg and Mycroft spending as much time with each other as possible. Eventually, Greg officially moved in with Mycroft. He even took off his wedding ring, placing it in a box in a safe place. He felt badly about it, like he was disrespecting the memory of his first wife, who had died in a car accident, but he couldn’t keep the ring on when he was hoping that one day, Mycroft would give him another ring to wear in its place.

“I have a special evening planned,” Mycroft said one morning. “Will you be free at eight?”

“Anything for you,” Greg said, kissing his cheek. “I love you.”

Greg waited at their flat for the car. When it arrived, Mycroft wasn’t in it. He was bit disappointed, since he had been hoping for a cuddle on the way to the restaurant, but he supposed that whatever Mycroft had in store would more than make up for it.  He walked into the restaurant cheerfully, their favorite restaurant, where they had gone on their first date. He was shown to the same table from that first day and sat down, noticing that their favorite wine was on the table as well as the meals they had eaten on their first date. Greg looked at his watch to check the date and smiled as he realized that it was one year to the day since their first date that wasn’t a date. He heard a throat clear and he looked up.

Greg was completely unprepared for seeing Mycroft Holmes in a new suit, on one knee, holding an open ring box. As tears began sliding down his cheeks, he stood and held out his hand. He pulled Mycroft up into a tight embrace, kissing him deeply.


End file.
